After washing and shaving, he donned a fresh uniform, minus his coat, and headed outside. The smell of freshly turned dirt, horseflesh, and wild oregano combined in an oddly pleasant scent as his glance took in the wide expanse of the plantation. Behind the main house stood the kitchen, dairy, and smokehouse. Off in the distance the barn rose stark before the encroaching forest. To its right stood the stables, once brimming with horses, but now eerily silent.
Laughter drew his gaze to a field to his left. He halted at the sight of a woman, hoe in hand, tending the soil beside Elijah. Curiosity drew him toward her. Surely Miss Permelia hadn’t meant that she worked in the fields. Absurd!
Yet, as he came closer, his suspicions were confirmed, for there she stood, dirt smudged on her arms and neck and perspiration beading on her brow. The hem of her cotton skirt was gathered and tucked within her belt, revealing a soiled petticoat and ankle boots covered in mud. But it was the healthy color of her cheeks and the way the sun flung golden ribbons through the brown hair dancing about her waist that drew William’s attention.
Shielding her eyes, she gazed up at him and quickly lowered the folds of her gown. “William, good morning. Did you sleep well?” The red on her cheeks darkened.
Elijah leaned on his shovel. “I always slept well in that house. Lots o’ good memories in there.”
William flinched, wondering how a slave could have any good memories. “I did sleep well. Thank you.” He stared at her aghast. “This is hardly suitable work for a young lady.” His voice came out more pretentious than he intended.
“I beg your pardon, Colonel, but this particular lady does not wish to starve. Nor see her sister starve. I hardly think that either of those options would be more suitable than this breach of propriety.”
The way she tossed her pert little nose in the air made him want to chuckle. Instead he cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I meant no insult.”
“Quite all right.” She set her hoe aside and stomped toward him, dirt clumping on her boots. “We’ve already planted the carrots, chard, green onions, and basil.” She pointed to another large field next to what used to be the storehouse, if William’s memory served, where tiny green sprouts dotted the fresh earth.
“And what are you planting here?”
“Tobacco.” Lifting the brim of her straw bonnet, she gazed over the field. “Our first attempt. Now that the war is over, we hope to be able to make some profit from it like Papa did.”
William wondered how they would manage all the work it required to process tobacco but dared not ask. He had a feeling this resolute woman already had a plan.
She wiped her face, leaving a smudge of dirt. William found it adorable. “You must be hungry,” she said.
He should be. He hadn’t eaten since early yesterday. But his stomach had been nothing but a cyclone of nerves since he’d arrived. “In truth, no. I would, however, like to see Annie.”
Elijah chuckled.
Miss Permelia gazed at the sun. “I fear you’ll have a few hours’ wait. She never rises before noon.”
William jerked at the statement, concern flooding him. “Does she suffer from some malady?”
Permelia shook her head. “It’s the war. It has taken a toll on her, I’m afraid.”
William frowned. “A toll I only increased with my sudden appearance last night.”
Permelia looked at him, neither avoiding the scarred side of his face, nor flinching at the sight of it. “I’m sorry for her reaction, Col—William. She’s not been herself lately.” She gestured toward the small brick house, where ribbons of smoke spiraled from the chimney. “Help yourself to biscuits and coffee in the kitchen. Martha and Ruth will be happy to see you.” Gathering her skirts, she headed toward the main house. “Forgive me, but I haven’t the time to entertain you properly. I must get cleaned up and head into town.”
Wiping his arm over his forehead, Elijah returned to his work.
“Alone?” William shouted after her.
She faced him. “I need to take the wild blueberries Elijah and I picked this morning to sell at market, and”—she hesitated—“attend to another matter.”
“Unescorted?” William could not conceive of a woman traveling alone during such tremulous times.
“I have no choice, Colonel. Elijah is needed here.” Her tone was clipped as she marched toward the house.
This time he couldn’t help but chuckle. Turning, she gazed at him quizzically. “And just what is so amusing?”
William caught up to her. “You call me ‘colonel’ when you become cross.”
“I do?” She laughed. “But I’m not cross. It’s just that many things have changed since your last visit.” She continued onward.
He walked beside her. “If you’ll permit me, I’d love to accompany you. Though I am not on duty, I should report my presence to Lieutenant Lee, the provost marshal.” Besides, he found himself longing to spend more time with this fascinating woman, a woman who didn’t shy away from dirt, hard labor, or working side by side with a freed slave.
“I’d be delighted.” Her blue eyes flashed with an emotion he could not place before she turned away.
Five hours later, William strode down the Duke of Gloucester Street in Williamsburg, ignoring the sordid glares from both the citizens and returning Confederate soldiers. He could hardly blame them. He had reported to Lieutenant Lee and found him to be a pompous buffoon, who no doubt had entertained himself by reigning terror over the poor inhabitants.
Tipping his hat at a passing lady and her child, William continued onward, noting how she cringed when she saw his face and hurried to the other side of the street. How different from the way he’d been received by ladies before the war. He pictured himself, dressed in his velvet cape and top hat, strolling down the Boulevard in New York City, showered with the flirtatious smiles of ladies who all but swooned as they passed him by.
Yet he was the same man as before. Perhaps even a better man for all he’d endured.
His glance took in the buildings along the side of the road, and he realized Williamsburg had endured much as well. Yards once filled with flowers stood trampled and vacant, outbuildings had been burned, porches lay neglected and crumbling. Gaping holes glared at him from walls like angry eyes where windows and doors had once stood.
A group of Confederate soldiers, bandages around the arms and legs of their stained uniforms, loitered in front of Vest’s store. The sharp scent of alcohol stung William’s nose as he passed. Their gazes locked upon him like a dozen rifles, following him down the street and making him think that it hadn’t been such a good idea to wear his uniform.
He quickened his pace to the Baptist Church, where Permelia had said to meet her. Church. He hadn’t stepped inside a real church in years—only attended services when it was required of him in the army. And even then, he had ceased to listen to the sermons. He still believed in God. But if he had to admit it, William supposed he was angry at a God who would allow the misery he’d witnessed on the battlefield. Men torn forever from their families. Young boys mutilated, their lives ripped from them before they’d even lived. And for what?
The United States would continue on as before. Yes, the slaves were freed—as evidenced by the many Negro freedmen walking the streets, receiving nearly as much scorn as William. But had the war really been about slavery? Or was it about men grasping for the same things that had caused all the conflicts throughout time: greed and power?
Shoving his cap farther on his head to shadow his scars as much as possible, he wiped the sweat from his neck. May, and already the unbearably hot Virginia summer was forcing its way onto citizens who had suffered enough. Looking forward to a reprieve from the sun, he entered the foyer of the church.
He halted as if he’d slammed into a brick wall.
What he had expected to see was a group of people kneeling in prayer or listening to the endless droll of some parson demanding recompense for the damages done by the North. Or perhaps a group of the f
aithful gathered to complain and whine about the occupation. Instead his eyes landed on a pile of amputated limbs stacked in the corner like discarded pieces of rotting wood. A horde of flies swarmed around them. William’s stomach vaulted. He forced his eyes to cots that lined a room where pews must have once stood. The injured, maimed, and sickly writhed upon them like churning, restless waves at sea. Women in bloodstained aprons, carrying buckets and bandages, flitted between the patients, ministering to their needs. A stench he’d only smelled once before, on the battlefield of Chancellorsville, where the Union had lost over fourteen thousand men, assaulted him—the sour, putrid smell of death. Hand pressed to his belly, William stepped outside for air before he made a fool of himself.
“William.” He turned around to see Permelia wiping her hands on her stained apron and looking at him with concern. “Are you unwell?”
Forcing a smile, William gathered his resolve. “No. Forgive me. I hadn’t expected …”
“To see so many injured?” She brushed strands of hair from her face. Red stains marred her fingers.
“No, not here, in a church.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the mayhem, genuine sorrow on her face. “We have been tending the wounded here ever since the war began.” She sighed. “Despite the peace, the injured still pour in.”
Moans shot from the open door, drawing William’s gaze to a Union uniform draped over the bottom of a cot. He blinked. “Both sides?”
She gave him an incredulous look. “Of course. God loves Yankees, too, William.” One corner of her mouth lifted.
He smiled, delighting in the sparkle in her eyes, present despite the misery surrounding her. After all she’d suffered and lost, after shouldering the burden of providing for her and her family, she still took time to help others. “How often do you assist here?”
“Twice a week, or as needed. The doctor sends for me if we receive a large number of wounded.”
A woman called to her from within the church. Excusing herself, Permelia dashed off, promising to meet him outside as soon as possible.
Happy to oblige her, William wandered around the church grounds, stopping at the west side of the building, where group graves marked the passing of many soldiers from this world.
“We ran out of space for them.” Permelia’s voice startled him, and he caught the mist in her eyes before she turned away.
He wanted to apologize, wanted to erase the pain from her face. But instead he offered his arm and led her away from the church.
Guilt assailed Permelia as she wandered down the street on the arm of her sister’s fiancé. Not guilt in the act, for it was innocent enough, but guilt that she enjoyed William’s company so much—his voice, his words, his touch. Thrilled that he had offered her his arm. Proud to be walking by his side, despite the belligerent gazes scouring them. Throughout the occupation, many of Williamsburg’s citizens had grown to loathe the Yankees. With God’s grace, Permelia saw them as mere humans on the other side of a nonsensical dispute that had been caused by man’s foolish sinfulness.
Adjusting her bonnet, she peeked at William sauntering beside her. The way the fringed epaulettes perched on his broad shoulders shimmered in the sun, the brass buttons lining his long blue coat, his leather belt and baldric, the red sash about his waist, the service sword at his side. And she had never seen a more handsome figure. Though she had tried to quell her reaction to his close proximity, she’d finally given in to the flutter in her belly and the thump of her heart and decided she might as well enjoy this time with him. Soon he and Annie would be gone. To New York City, where they would marry, have a bevy of children, and live a happy life together.
On the wagon ride into town, he had hardly spoken, and Permelia sensed a deep sorrow within him. She longed to discuss the things they’d written of in their letters but dared not. Though she knew him intimately, he treated her as a mere acquaintance. But of course, to him, she was. It pained her nonetheless. So she’d spent the hour sneaking glimpses of him, admiring the assertive way he sat, directing the horses, the way his hair, the color of rich earth, fluttered against his collar. The stiff angle of his jaw and chin. And his deep-set eyes, so full of pain she longed to wrap her arms around him. Now, walking beside her in his crisp Union blues, he carried himself with an authority that set her at ease, a protectiveness that made her feel safe.
And she hadn’t felt safe in a long time.
“It grieves me to see your fair town in this condition,” he said as a horse and carriage rattled by, stirring up dust.
Permelia glanced over to the spot where the hotel had once stood. “Every vacant house was torn down by the soldiers for wood. They stripped the ones left standing of anything valuable.” She nodded to Mrs. Milligan, who was standing in her yard, eyeing them with curiosity. Permelia strolling on the arm of a Union officer would certainly give the elderly gossip something to talk about.
“I apologize for what my fellow soldiers have done, Permelia. It appears they have not behaved as gentlemen.” Genuine sorrow tainted his voice. He laid his hand upon hers tucked within the crook of his elbow.
A thrill spun in her belly. “Some have been quite kind. But it seems war brings out the worst in men.”
He gave her a look that said he understood that fact all too well. “Still, I am both astonished and overjoyed that the Yankees, as you call them, left your home unharmed.”
“They didn’t at first. We quite feared for our lives.” Permelia shivered as memories of those first few weeks of occupation marched across her thoughts. “But God took care of us. He has blessed us greatly.”
William seemed surprised at her statement, but he only offered her a smile in reply.
Up ahead, a familiar face twisted a knot in Permelia’s gut. Jackson. She wished Annie could see him now as he flirted with two young, attractive ladies. Upon spotting her, he started her way, his pointed gaze taking in William like a hawk would newfound prey. When his eyes focused on William’s face, he flinched, halted before them, and offered a salute with languid enthusiasm.
“Good day, Jackson,” Permelia said, wiggling her nose at the cedar oil he’d sprinkled in his hair.
“Miss Permelia.” He removed his hat and dipped a bow.
“Sergeant Jackson Steele, may I present Colonel William Wolfe.”
Jackson stood at attention, staring at William’s coat. “Welcome, Colonel. I had not heard of additional officers arriving.”
“At ease, Sergeant.” William seemed unaffected by the man’s inability to gaze upon his face. “I am not on duty at the moment. Though I do not find it surprising that you are not made aware of the movement of every officer.” His tone had turned superior.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed at the insult. Easing his stance, he slid his fingers over the oiled hair at his temples. “Regardless, it is good to see Miss Permelia on the arm of a gentleman. I’ve warned her more than once that she is fast becoming an old spinster.”
Heat rose on Permelia’s neck that had nothing to do with the hot sun beating down on them.
William cleared his throat.
“I fear you are mistaken,” Permelia began. “William is but an acquaintance.” How could she tell the man the truth? But it must come out sooner or later. Though she wasn’t overly fond of Jackson, she didn’t wish to hurt him, either. “In fact,” she continued, “you should know that he is Annie’s fiancé from New York, come to claim her.”
For the first time since she’d known Jackson, the supercilious facade slipped from his face. Yet, what replaced it terrified Permelia. Pure hatred. He slid a finger over his mustache and stretched his shoulders beneath his blue coat as if shrugging off the information. Once again the mask of imperious charm stiffened his features. He forced a smile, revealing a row of gleaming teeth that reminded Permelia of a horse neighing its displeasure.
“Well, that is quite impossible, Colonel,” he said, “since Annie is already engaged to me.”
Chapter 4
You
can’t avoid him forever, Annie.” Permelia spun around from her spot by the chamber window.
“Tighter, Ruth.” Annie gripped the bedpost as the young Negro girl yanked on the lacings of her corset. Fear of displeasing her mistress was still resident in her wide eyes, though she’d been freed three years ago.
“I am quite aware of that, dear sister, which is why I intend to take a stroll with him today.” Annie twisted her lips. “That is far too tight, stupid girl.”
Ruth’s hands shook.
Permelia approached, gave Ruth a sympathetic look, and took over the lacing. “Ruth, would you please assist your mother in the kitchen?” After the young girl left, Permelia finished the binding and helped Annie on with her petticoats. “Ruth is no longer our slave, Annie. You mustn’t be so cruel to her.”
“Oh, fiddle. I know. I’m sorry.” Annie adjusted her crinoline. “I’m just so tired. And seeing William has been so … so difficult.”
Permelia frowned. “I would think you’d be thrilled to finally see him.” As Permelia was. Far too thrilled.
“Of course I am.” Annie puckered her lips as Permelia assisted her with her final muslin petticoat before draping her skirt over the top.
“Then why have you been feigning illness these past two days?” Permelia planted her hands at her hips and gave her sister a look of reprimand.
“Oh Permi.” Annie dropped onto her bed, fluffing out her silver-blue skirts around her. “He’s just so hard to look upon.”
Permelia had no such difficulty. With a sigh she strolled back to the window, preferring to watch William working in the fields than to see her sister’s pouting face. Shovel in hand and stripped to the waist, he helped Elijah dig irrigation ditches. The sun glistened off his powerful chest and arms, both rippling beneath the exertion. Her belly fluttered, and she hugged it in an effort to stifle the pleasant feelings, all the while growing accustomed to them. She had also grown accustomed to the absence of hunger pains since William had arrived. For he’d purchased a fresh pig and enough rice and grain to feed them for a month.
The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection Page 16